Jacob had gone through a week of hell. So he couldn't be blamed for thinking he was suddenly in heaven when he saw Olivia walk into the courtroom. She took his breath away, dressed in a simple morning gown with her hair pulled back under a hat.
But the surprise and pleasure lasted only for a moment. Because after that it was replaced by fear.
She was either here to testify against or for
A lot could change in less than a day, Olivia discovered the day after Jacob’s trial. For one, her father had refused to acknowledge her after calling her 'another Townshend bitch.' Although it had hurt quite a bit, she figured she was better off without him anyway. Jacob had tried to talk to her but she had rebuffed his efforts. She had just discovered that her father had been responsib
"You look absolutely stunning, darling," Aunt Mel sighed wistfully, tucking in some pink blossoms into Olivia's coiffure. She smiled. Somethings never changed. "And you," Olivia grinned, kissing her aunt's cheek affectionately. "Oh Aunt Mel, don't cry!" she groaned when a few tears escaped the woman's eyes.
data-p-id=2a60d748418ea8a4eb3d294edc56518f,"Lucy, where are you?" Olivia hollered. data-p-id=5d08697369b2ec9e3a8c603053a68e35,"She's hiding," came her husband's voice as he pulled her into the
25 March 1820Rome, ItalyJacob was lounging on a chair and Mrs. Valentina Lombardi, the most sought after courtesan in Rome was sprawled on his lap, her lush body pressed to his as she tried to coax a reaction out of him. He knew all the other men watching him envied him. But for the life of him, he couldn't muster any enthusiasm for the act.
What Jacob saw when he went through the door stopped him in his tracks. His breath whooshed out of him. That ghost of a man, only skin and bones couldn't possibly be his uncle. Uncle had been a large man, he'd been robust. But this man looking at him with his eyes stark against his pale, lifeless face...
Mayfair, London"I am not wearing that gown, Aunt Mel. It's practically indecent!" Olivia groaned. "Of course not! Why do you say that?" her aunt demanded, dangling a maroon taffeta gown before Olivia's eyes. It was beautiful, no doubt. "For one, the bodice is so low that my breasts might pop out at any time."
"Archie, can we please sit out the next set?" Olivia didn't want to dance anymore. "Fine by me. If we dance one more set together, these people will most definitely call out the banns and print the news of our betrothal in The Times," he rolled his eyes. "But what's wrong? You love to dance," he eyed her. "I do, but my legs hurt," the lie slipped out easily enough. As the set was abou
7 years ago. 13 June 1813Derbyshire, EnglandOlivia grunted as another pebble slipped into her slipper. It appeared like she had gone momentarily daft when she'd chosen her dainty slippers instead of the sturdy boots for her jaunt by the countryside.